I have a small condo on Sint Maarten, my winter refuge from Montana’s chill, where the sun rises over St. Barth’s from my front deck like a promise. Mullet Bay is one of my sanctuaries, where I watch the sunsets paint the sky in hues of gold and red.

For a different kind of charm, there’s Biggy’s Central, nestled in a central location downtown on the pond fill in Phillipsburg. Biggy, the soul behind it, is an institution on this island. She’s the kind of woman who knows everyone by their smile. Her food is a celebration of the Caribbean, full of flavors that dance on your tongue—conch fritters that are crisp on the outside with a tender heart and ribs that fall off the bone, smoked to perfection. She serves these delights with joy and laughter, her presence as much a part of the meal as the food itself.

Mullet Bay, on the other hand, offers a different kind of paradise, where the lounge chairs on the beach are thrones from which to watch God end his day in beauty. Here, you can soak up the sun or escape into the shade of the wide, colorful umbrellas that dot the sand as oversized sunflowers. There’s always a Carib beer nearby, cold and crisp, the perfect companion to the warm, salty breeze.

The water of the caribbean is a revelation, warm and welcoming, as if it’s waiting for me to arrive. The gentle waves bob me up and down, each movement a soothing balm to the soul. It’s here, in this embrace of the sea, where all worries seem to dissolve into the blue expanse. The water is so clear that you can see the fish darting below, a silent dance of life beneath the surface. Can I stand six weeks of this day after day?

Back in Phillipsburg, Biggy’s  isn’t just about the food; it’s about the community. The people here are the island’s true wealth. Will there be fisherman with hands like driftwood, who teach me the names of the stars; or the painter on Front Street, whose colors capture the essence of sunrises; or the wait staff at Aziana’s, who will soon know  my wishes without ever asking. They are to be my vacation family, bound by the salt of the sea and the shared love of this place.

When I’m there, I measure time not by days but by the tides, by the laughter that echoes through the night, by the quiet moments when the world seems to pause and breathe with me. Sint Maarten isn’t just land and sea; it’s the stories we live and the ones we tell each day, a new page in this endless book I will write by the water. At our place, every chapter I’ll write from the heart, by the sea,  and of the sunsets, I’ll write the poetry of God given to me.